


The Thing With the Donuts

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Doctor!Dean, Donuts, Fluff, Gas-N-Sip, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 17:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2782028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Castiel is a gas attendant, and Dean is a doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing With the Donuts

**Author's Note:**

> cross posted from tumblr.

4:30am, Wednesday. One coffee - black - two powdered donuts from the pastry display next to the register. Sea green scrubs.

His eyes are still bleary as he hands Castiel a ten dollar bill, but his smile is warm and genuine, a welcoming sight that washes out the sting of the weary truckers, and questionable late night customers Castiel’s been serving for the past three hours.

“Thanks.” The doctor says as Castiel offers him his change. Castiel nods. The doctor leaves.

Castiel watches him go. Longing in his chest.

 

4:38am, Thursday. He’s running late today. One large coffee, no donuts (though he looks at them wistfully as he pays for his drink). Grey scrubs that wash out his freckles. Castiel prefers the green scrubs from the day before.

“Gas on 2.” He tells Castiel, handing him a few twenties. He’s out the door with a rushed smile, and as the bell above the door jingles, a monotonous sound, Castiel thinks perhaps someday he’ll actually say something back.

4:28 am, Friday. Navy blue scrubs - a good color on him. Black coffee, small this time. He brings his coffee and a few bottles of water to the counter and frowns at the pastry display.

“No powdered ones today, huh?”

Castiel glances over at the thick, plastic case even though he knows he just sold the last (and only) one to a man in a dirty green jacket who smelled heavily of marijuana.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know if you’d want one or not.” Castiel explains. His voice cracks around the words; maybe from disuse, maybe because this is the first time he’s ever actually spoken to the green-eyed doctor. Regardless, he feels like he’s done the doctor a disservice, selling what would have been his donut to another man.

“Nah,” the doctor says waving a hand in the air, “It’s okay. I mean, they’re my favorite, but-” he pats his stomach and offers Castiel a charming smile, “I should cut back anyway, right?”

Castiel shakes his head because quite frankly, he can see absolutely no flaws in the doctor.

The doctor chuckles. “You’re just being nice.” He says.

Castiel wants to rebuttal. He wants to tell the man he’s perfect, that Castiel has thought so ever since the first early morning the doctor slipped in and muttered, “Gas on 4, thanks.”

But instead Castiel just blinks.

“Anyway,” The doctor continues, handing Castiel some money, “I gotta get going. Got surgery at 6. Save a donut for me next time though, huh?” He winks at Castiel, and then Castiel is, once again, studying the man’s shoulders as his feet carry him out the door and over to the shiny, black muscle car he roars up in every morning.

Surgery, Castiel repeats silently. So the doctor is a surgeon.

Castiel doesn’t work on Saturdays - it’s one of the perks of working the graveyard shifts - but he almost wishes he was at work, being smiled and winked at by the surgeon with the freckles, and charming green eyes.

At 3:52am on Monday morning, Castiel fishes out the only two powdered donuts from the pastry display. He places them carefully in a red and white cardboard container, one meant to hold nachos and hot dogs, and sets them out of the way. Then he waits.

4:27am, the doctor’s black Impala rumbles into the parking lot. Castiel crosses the convenience store with the powdered donuts in hand and pops them in the microwave for one minute. He’s back behind the counter before the doctor even enters the store.

4:29am. Light blue scrubs. Hair still wet from the shower, not even styled for the day. He must be running late. Or too tired to care.

Castiel watches with a wildly pounding heart and clammy palms as the doctor heads straight for the coffee dispenser and reaches for the largest cup. He doesn’t pour any creamers into the steaming black liquid, Castiel knew he wouldn’t, and within a few minutes he’s standing in front of Castiel, surveying the pastry display with a furrowed brow.

“Somebody beat me to it again?” He wonders, tired eyes fixing on Castiel.

Castiel pulls the red and white container from below the counter, presenting it to the man on the other side of the register.

“I saved them for you, just like you asked.” Castiel says. His words come out more brave than he feels, and he watches a range of emotions crossover the doctor’s face; disbelief, ponderment, and finally, a smile.

“You really did.”

Castiel nods and pushes them across the counter. “They’re warm.” He offers.

The doctor picks one up and shoves half of it in his mouth, moaning around the warm, gooey middle that oozes out. “You are, literally, the best.” He manages around a mouth-full of donut.There’s white powder all around his lips, and the first word that comes to Castiel’s mind is, wonderful.

Castiel quirks a smile. No one has ever considered him the best at anything before.

In less than thirty seconds, the first donut has been inhaled. The doctor picks up the second one and breaks it in half, handing one half to Castiel. “My treat,” he says with a wink.

Castiel blinks down at the donut.

The doctor takes a bite of his half and watches Castiel for a second before stating, “That was probably rude of me, huh? Only giving you half.”

“No-” Castiel says, shaking his head. “This is- thank you.” It’s just half of a donut, but the gesture sends warmth coursing through Castiel, ebbing throughout his chest and making him feel… tingly. He takes a bite.

“I’m Dean, by the way. Winchester. Figured we see enough of each other these days to be on a first name basis.”

Castiel nods. “Castiel.”

It’s silent for a moment. Millions of little butterflies running rampant in Castiel’s stomach until, “What kind of surgeon are you?”

Another mouthful of donut. “Pediatric.”

“You work with children.” Castiel doesn’t know why he says it, mostly because he’s impressed he supposes, but the doctor - Dean - nods anyway.

More butterflies. More warmth in his chest.

Castiel has never thought of himself as someone who was good with children, not that he’s ever really had the chance to test that theory, but just the thought of Dean working with kids makes the doctor even more appealing than he was before.

“You like working here?” Dean wonders. He’s finished off his donut and is now sipping at his coffee.

Castiel glances down at his cobalt blue vest, the one he has to wear every day, and contemplates his answer. The Gas-N-Sip has been an okay job for him over the past year, it’s a bit lonely at times, but if he didn’t work at the Gas-N-Sip he may never have met Dean so, “Yes,” he finally decides.

Dean smiles. “Awesome.”

Another beat of silence passes between them. It isn’t awkward, but Castiel feels like it’s his turn to say something so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “I thought you were running late today.”

The doctor’s brow furrows.

“Your hair was wet.”

“Oh.” And maybe it’s the poor lighting in the gas station, or Castiel’s wishful thinking, but it seems as if the doctor’s cheeks flush. “I uh-” He scratches at the back of his neck. “I’m actually early. I’m not on until 8 today, but…”

Castiel waits quietly for Dean to find his words.

“I came because I wanted to see you.”

“You came because you wanted to-” Castiel trails off.

“Yeah I-” Dean takes a deep breath. “I almost lost a patient last night. She pulled through in the end, but it was a long night. And you know what my first thought was when I found out she was going to be okay?”

“Thank God she’s okay?”

Dean chuckles. “Okay, second thought. I- I just wanted to be here. I know that’s probably weird this is just a gas station, but…”

Anyone else may have found the admittance strange, but Castiel just feels warm. Warmer even than before, like actual sunlight is about to come pouring out of his chest and flood the Gas-N-Sip.

“I don’t know, I kinda like seeing you every morning now. You never say much, but I look forward to it anyway. Hell, sometimes you’re the best part of my day. And then today, the thing with the donuts, that was-” Dean lets out a breath, “You’re just really awesome, Cas, and I think about you a lot.” There’s no doubt about it now, Dean’s cheeks are definitely colored pink. Castiel thinks it may be the best look on the doctor Castiel has seen yet.

“You’re the best part of my day, too.” Castiel offers. He feels a smile growing on his face, the feeling foreign, but nice, and if Dean’s return smile is anything to go by, Castiel’s face has done the right thing.

“So I was wondering.” Dean says. “Could I maybe see you outside of the gas station sometime?”

Castiel tilts his head, processing Dean’s words. “Like on a date?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes through an uneasy laugh, “exactly like on a date.”

The butterflies are going wild again, beating around inside Castiel’s stomach, like they’re hosting their own private hockey match, and instead of answering, he gets lost in the feeling of being wanted by someone else. It’s new, and it’s heavy, but at the same time light, and wonderful, and at any given moment Castiel fears he could actually burst from how good he feels.

Dean frowns. “Sorry, was that too forward?”

“No!” Castiel basically shouts, quick to correct the miscommunication. “I’d like that. Yes. A date. Dean, a date with you would make me very happy.”

Dean visibly relaxes. “Scared me for a minute there, Cas.” His smile is wide and warm, and Castiel wants to reach across the countertop and touch Dean, just to see what he feels like. Sunshine, he supposes, and comfort, and warmth.

Perhaps on their date he’ll get the opportunity to find out.

Dean pulls a business card out of his wallet and slides it across the counter. “Call me when you can and we’ll figure out a good day, yeah?”

Castiel picks up the card and studies it, eyes wandering over Dean’s name with the letters ChD directly after it. “Yes,” Castiel finally responds, looking back up into the doctor’s bright, green eyes.

Dean smiles. “I look forward to it,” he says.

Castiel nods. “Me too.”

As he watches Dean leave the convenience store, just like he does every morning, there’s a smile on his face and, in place of the longing he usually feels, anticipation between his ribs.

4:36am. Dean’s not even out of the parking lot yet. Castiel dials his number anyway.


End file.
